


All Shall Be Well

by Mithen



Category: DCU - Comicverse
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-28
Updated: 2010-11-28
Packaged: 2017-10-14 17:24:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/151678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mithen/pseuds/Mithen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever since the latest time Darkseid tried to conquer the world, things had been just slightly wrong in Gotham.  But tonight Jim Gordon feels they might be turning right again.  References <em>Final Crisis</em> and <a href="http://mithen.livejournal.com/117254.html"><em>The Road Home:  Commissioner Gordon.</em></a></p>
            </blockquote>





	All Shall Be Well

_  
All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well. --Julian of Norwich   
_

Jim Gordon hears whistling--low, almost tuneless--as he walks down the Gotham streets. He stops and turns around and realizes that it was himself. Whistling.

When was the last time he had whistled, walking down these streets?

Maybe since the skies ran red as blood and time seemed to crunch to an agonizing halt, the iron grip of anti-life holding him squirming in its grasp. In his nightmares he can remember the crushing leaden weight, flattening hope to the thinnest of wisps.

In his dreams, sometimes he can hear it again, the music that lifted that weight. _All shall be well_ , it sang in his marrow and blood. _All shall be well._

But when the skies turned from crimson back to Gotham’s normal ash, all was not well. Gotham’s protector was considerate and smiling, nearly as efficient as always.

Nearly.

Batman called him “sir” and all was not well.

But tonight Jim Gordon has seen a familiar shape, black against Gotham’s lights. Not the cowl, not the cape. The shape itself, the shape of the darkness that completes.

Jim Gordon is whistling as he presses the doorbell of his daughter’s apartment.

She opens the door and takes the roses from him with smile and a rueful shake of her head. “Have you got enough dinner for two?” he asks, and she rolls back and gestures him in, grandly.

The pasta is steaming, the bread hot and crispy, and he hears himself humming softly under his breath, a tune he can nearly remember. She cocks her head at him. “You’re in a good mood tonight.” Her eyes are bright.

“Saw an old friend,” he says. “Someone I thought maybe I wouldn’t see again.”

She reaches across the table, a swift and almost awkward movement, and takes his hand. He squeezes it tightly and they sit together, holding on. He sees in her eyes the same song that has brushed by him in dreams, half-remembered.

 _All shall be well,_ says the tune in his heart. _The darkness and the light, the turning of the days._

 _All shall be well._


End file.
